


Nothing at all about love

by ninamalfoy



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, unbetaed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-19
Updated: 2010-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-10 16:17:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninamalfoy/pseuds/ninamalfoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miroslav realizes something important.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing at all about love

**Author's Note:**

> Written for giggling_marlin, this is a belated x-mas ficlet, starring Miroslav Klose and Ivan Klasnic.
> 
> First published on LJ on January 8th, 2006.
> 
> Not true in the least bit. I'm just borrowing their public persona to play.

Miroslav looked around, searching for that mop of brown hair that – amidst all the others – never failed to make him smile. And right there he was, Ivan, sitting next to Torsten, and they were talking. Quite animatedly.

But as he approached the bench where they were sitting, Torsten turned around and said, "Just the man I wanted – Miro, help me persuade this dickwad to get his act together and have kids! He won't listen to me, but maybe to you."

"Why you," a chuckling Ivan protested, "leave Mirek out of this; you're just jealous of my party animal reputation and that I don't have to worry about waking up the light sleep of babies when it gets later than usual, if you get my drift," and then he elbowed Torsten in the ribs, winking at Miro.

"I've done enough of partying in my younger days, I'll let you know," Torsten snorted.

Ivan raised his eyebrows. "Ah, now I get why you got that very complimentary nickname… I mean, after all, with such handsome guys on the Bayern team, it's probably no wonder," and it's just a coincidence that Miro was smiling at Torsten just then and thus didn't miss the Fringser's flushed face.

He knew the actual origins of Torsten's nickname, they had nothing to do with sexual practices and yet Ivan's careless jab did seem to hit something in Torsten.

To deflect attraction, Miro said, "Well, when babies are teething, it isn't that much fun, that I've got to say, but really, nothing beats holding your own child in your arms and have it looking up at you with such trust."

Torsten smiled at Miro, nodding. "What did I say, Klasnic?"

Ivan shook his head. "Well, they might be precious and cute and whatever, but hey, I'm still a free man! Not tied down by nappies-changing or feeding or nightly watches!"

Torsten sighed theatrically. "But that's the most fun part! They do leave us sleepless and restless and sometimes you wish to have them shipped off, but the rest of the time, they're just busy stealing your heart, the little babies. Ain't I right, Miro?"

Miro nodded, smiling at Ivan. "He is, you know."

Ivan raised an eyebrow at him. "Well, that comes from a guy who touches his little boys' pacifiers before every match, so I'll excuse you with 'temporary overspilling fatherly love', Mirek. Seeing as Sylwia takes care of them so much, you haven't had much fatherly duties yet. But just you wait," and here he jabbed a finger at Miro, "two, three years onwards, and you'd wish you had taken these cute stuffed teddy bears on the shelves at the last fair instead."

Miro chuckled. "She has already got enough of these, so she wouldn't really need more. So kids was the only way to go, really."

Torsten laughed. "Just admit it, you couldn't stand the pretty dovey eyes any more…" – "Nah, it probably had more to do with what his wife dressed up in for bed," Ivan chuckled, and Miro couldn't help blushing; Ivan had hit bulls-eye.

But then, he himself had wished for children, too, and he couldn't be happier now that he finally had a family. That's what he always wanted to be: a father. And having a home he could always retreat to when things got bad, but what with his boys teething right now, he mostly spent time in the big – unusually unused – guest room at the far side of the house, so that his light sleep wouldn't be disturbed by the screaming. He did his fair share, too, even got quite good at changing nappies and whenever he had a free day the next day, he relieved Sylwia of nightly duty.

It was still quite strange to him, these two little boys in his arms, that came from him and yet were independent persons with a strong will already. Sometimes, it frightened him, but other times, he was deeply glad about it. And, who knows, maybe they'd get some of the football gene, too? He was already looking forward to teach them, and that would take at least three or four more years. He shook his head, amused at himself.

And then Schaaf roared, "Training, ladies! This is no cosy café where you meet up for exchanging gossip, and did I say that cell phones were to be left in the locker's room – Torsten!"

But Torsten already had his cell to his ear, nodding at Schaaf and grimacing, 'you know how it is', probably management or his advisor, Miro guessed. "Frings speaking," the midfielder said, and at hearing the response, a brilliant smile lit up his rugged features.

But Miro had no time to speculate on who the caller might be – Petra? – as Ivan got up, dusted off his trainers and came to stand next to Miro, "How are you, by the way?"

Miro smiled at him. "I'm okay." Ivan had phoned him the last night and he had caught Miro at a bad time.

"It was just the matter of Luan's favourite teddy having fallen outside the bed, you know," Miro informed him. Ivan raised his eyebrow at him. "Well, it sounded like bloody murder to me. But you were quite alive, so there."

"What did you want to ask, anyway?" Miro asked.

Ivan chuckled, looking sideways. "Nah, not important." At Miro's raised eyebrow, he shrugged. "Well, I just wanted to know if –"

"Ladies! The music is playing over _here_, if you'd mind!"

Torsten, who had stepped a little aside, also had ended the call and was slipping the cell into his pocket, catching up alongside them jogging towards the other players huddled around Schaaf. "Greetings from Micha," he said to Miro.

"Was that him, then?" Torsten nodded. Miro smiled. "Thanks, and give him mine next time you'll talk to him, yes?" – "What Micha are you talking about?" Ivan asked.

They had arrived in the circle of the other players who have been waiting for them and Torsten just said, "Ballack," before bending down and tying his shoelaces.

And then Schaaf bellowed out his commands – does the man always have to be that loud? – and they went through the whole training routine, practising shots, one-on-one play, headers, what you got, and then scrimmage.

"Finally," Ivan said, still slightly breathless, "I thought he'd make us go over that last move endless times."

"Well, it was all your fault," Torsten replied, "as you didn't see Miro right to your left."

Ivan, who was in the middle of pulling his shirt over his head, groaned. "You didn't see him, either!"

Torsten plopped down on the bench, grimacing as he pulled the shoes off his feet. "Well, _you_ had the ball, if I might remind you of that little, often overlooked fact."

Miro listened to the exchange as he changed out of his clothes, wrestling with the shirt's sleeves as they were particularly vicious, clinging to his skin, and it took a good tug from someone else to get him out of the shirt. Ivan. "Here you go."

"Thanks," Miro said, smiling. The fellow forward harrumphed, and then it blurted out of him.

"Look, I just wanted to ask if we could get together again, like, go fishing? There's this nice crook of the Weser not far from where I live…"

Miro had told Ivan that one of his hobbies was fishing, in passing, and never thought any further. But Ivan had.

"Sure," and now he was also blushing. "I didn't know you liked fishing, too."

"I don't, actually."

"Oh." And really, it did took this almost-careless admission, something nearly inconsequential, to make Miro realize a lot of things. Most importantly, that there were many things about love that he still had to discover. Little things like this.

He smiled at the Croatian, bunching up the sweaty shirt in his hands. "I'd like very much to go fishing with you."

"Maybe I'll even get what the hype is all about," Ivan said. And winked at him.

Now Miro couldn't wait to get home and test out his fishing rod, if it still was any good. And didn't he have an extra one in the basement, for emergencies? He still had beer in the fridge, and he could slap together some sandwiches.

"You will," he said.

And Ivan grinned at him. "Let's hit the shower real quick, yes?"


End file.
